Saturday, May 10, 2014

Flashback- Mother's Day another time...

Shouting
Isn’t Necessary

“One generation plants the
trees; another gets the shade.”

-Chinese proverb

By
Glen Creason

It’s been a
while since my Mom has been able to hear the normal sounds we take for granted.
Sometimes that is good as in the bass thumping “music” that thunders from kid’s
autos. Sometimes it is sad as in the subtle softness of rain on our roofs.
After eighty-five years of screaming kids, blaring televisions, loud car radios
and several million phone conversations with friends and family the hardware of
her hearing apparatus just gave out. Like always, she doesn’t complain or blame
others for this affliction but it can be alienating. People with all their
physical senses tend to become easily frustrated with those who don’t and often
the hard of hearing get shut out of the fun. Speaking at a higher volume really
doesn’t work but nine out of ten folks believe they can overcome hearing loss
by screaming to no avail. Since my Mom has always been at the heart of every
family affair for the past century this makes our gatherings centralized and
very loud.

Still, some things don’t need to be said
and just a look can communicate a chapter. Each year brings me increased
appreciation and understanding of just how treacherous the twists and turns of
parenting paths can get. How could she make it all look so easy? How could she
go years without giving up and erupting like a volcano at our tomfoolery? How
did she ever make it to this place where she is beloved by several generations of
family members? I want to know. I want to be like that.

She can tell fascinating stories, put
history in perspective, add color to family lore and plop all of us in our
place with just an upturned eyebrow. She has seen more, done more and witnessed
more changes than we can imagine. At eighty-five she continues to be the
omnipotent force who doesn’t miss a trick with or without the hearing that once
could identify you opening the cupboard where her hidden chocolate chip cookies
lay from the other side of the house. Yet father time takes his toll on all of
us. While hearing aids bring pieces, bits, small parcels of the world of sound
she once knew we can no longer assume that she is part of a conversation. We
must face her and speak to her, not mumble, as is our custom and continue to
the end of our speaking. As my generation stumbles forward we experience
first-hand just how difficult it is to hear in crowded restaurants,
acoustically brittle rooms and moving cars.
Then again, most of the affection we express isn’t dependent on the
senses and as the ears fail we turn to actions to express our devotion. If our shouts don’t reach then we have our
presence, our physical support, hugs, kisses, family photographs, e-mails and
even those old fashioned customs of yesteryear: the written card and letter. My
Mother has planted the trees and we have enjoyed the shade she created with her
patience, gentility and wisdom. Now we must speak to her in ways that leap over
her ears and into her heart. It just takes the words “I Love You Mom, “ written
somewhere, read sometime, preferably on Mothers Day.

Friday, May 02, 2014

Jose Paiz August 22, 1960 – April 24, 2014

Jose

I was thinking all the way back to when I
first met Jose in 1983 and I was struck by the fact that he made me laugh every
time I saw him. Even when he knew just a few hundred words of English he used
those with humor and humility. It might seem odd but despite this terribly sad
occasion I am determined to laugh with him one last time today. Despite his
desperate struggle to come here from El Salvador and to get a job with the library, he never lost
that twinkle in his eye and he was never intimidated by a screwed up system
that made it as difficult as possible to assimilate. He had a sense of humor
that was rare and refreshing along with a spirit that lifted those around him.
He took our differences and differing status in the library hierarchy and
laughed at the silliness of it all, thus making us equals. Like everyone here
who worked with Jose, I feel like he made me a better person, a more
understanding man and a more compassionate worker in a place that gave us
glimpses of the best and worst that mankind has to offer. He was tested many
times but never defeated. We had a running joke that lasted over thirty years
that I was the white oppressor and he was the Latino victim but in reality we
were peers from the minute we arrived late to... the walk up the hill to the Savoy
garage after work. I think I truly bonded with Jose when we shelved and shifted
the entire (and I do mean entire) History department book collection in the
dank Spring street basement by ourselves back in 1989. During that time he
exchanged many a bit of Salvadoran philosophy with me and the evil brought upon
our world by the character known as Chepito.
I told him when I saw him the last time a couple of months ago that in
34 years and hundreds of co-workers he was in a small group of my favorites. I really want to keep this brief and I can
hear Jose saying to me “hey Creason, cut the bullshit, let’s get on with it
man” but I would like to mention just a few of my favorite things about this
unforgettable guy.

He taught me how to curse in Spanish.
While many of these phrases I cannot repeat here it was Jose who gave me verbal
ammunition to take to the streets of Los Angeles where I surprised many a
Latino driver with my observations. His tutoring allowed me to say with no
hesitation “NO MAMES! Or…oh never mind.

When we shelved and shifted together with
our other pals like Miguel or Ricardo or Teresa he taught me about all the
nicknames in Central America…of the Catrachos, the Ticos, the Chapin, the Nica,
and as Jose said the pince Gabachos. During that time I tried to bring in music
for the crews to listen to including wonderful salsa, meringue, cumbias and for
Jose some live Foghat! We got to hate “slow ride.” Just to bate him sometimes I would bring in
“folk music” and then we would howl with laughter hearing him say “Folk music”
which sounded very much like a well-known curse in English.

We had thirty full years of insults back
and forth as to futbol or soccer as I call it versus baseball which Jose called
a sissy sport. Eventually, he got me to pay attention to the World Cup and
several times he even took Van to a Dodger game on Library night. I even have
pictures of Jose at the stadium! We used to joke that I would ride with him to
Huntington Park after Mexico lost to the US in 2002 but luckily he never called
me on that one.

Probably the funniest running comedy act
in Central history was Jose and Koala the parking lot attendant at the Savoy
garage. Jose gave as well as got- each day trying to outdo each other with
practical jokes and I remember being doubled over with laughter seeing him
driving out the driveway unsuspectingly toward home with a string of twenty
noisy tin cans trailing behind his car like a newlywed. Koala left us a few years back so I
would assume he will be waiting in paradise with some prank to welcome his old
pal-nemesis.

I could go on but I wanted to add one last
note about Jose that always struck me. About 90% of the time we talked it was
banter but sometimes we talked about family and our kids. There was glow he had
when he mentioned his children and a soft light in his eyes when he talked
about his wife Ana, even when he mentioned her watching how many beers he had
had. He worked at the library and was truly beloved by his peers but everything
he did was for his family. That, to me, is a pretty good man.

Adios muchacho.

“You Learn”

After a while you learn the subtle differenceBetween holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaningAnd company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t
contractsAnd presents aren’t promises,

And you begin to accept your defeatsWith your head up and your eyes openWith the grace of a woman, not the grief of a
child,

And you learn to build all your roads on todayBecause tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for
plansAnd futures have a way of falling down in
mid-flight.

After a while you learn…That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own
soul,Instead of waiting for someone to bring you
flowers.

Monday, November 18, 2013

The Days Dwindle Down to a Precious Few

My first day
as a librarian at Central was a happy and boring one. I was starting my rookie year with Magic Johnson who had joined the Lakers but I was no point guard but more of a kid from nowheresville at the end of the bench. "Apocalypse Now" was the smash movie, "Taxi" was the television show everybody talked about around the water cooler and "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough" by Michael Jackson boomed out of car stereos. Dowtown was kind of half shabby, half cool but the city was guided by the strong hand of Tom Bradley, he of the Bradley Wing. To get a fashion sense watch the movie "Argo" and think big eyeglasses and lots of hair. To gain some perspective
on that day, younguns now would hear me
say I began in 1979 like I would hear
the old hard shells who trained me say they started in 1945. There were only a few
World War II vintage folks at desks when I started but the staff stories
reached back to the 1930’s. I heard about Mary Helen Peterson chain-smoking
Lucky Strikes in her office in History and knew Saunders in Lit actually lived
in the Engstrom across Fifth Street. I was told that Jane Ellison had brought a live
turkey to a Board of Library Commissioners meeting and let it loose, pissing off a lot of administrators. I actually
worked alongside people whose kids have now retired from LAPL. I remember when you called the Principals "Miss" and the legendary Tom Owen sat in the California Room typing on an old Underwood. Where computers
are today there were catalog cards and p-slips and the new-fangled micro-fische
readers. The phones were rotary, connected by a
charming switchboard operator named Pearl. We requested magazines from
the pool run by Miss Williams in Lamson tubes and 90% of the collection was in closed stacks. It
was deliciously busy and stimulating on any reference desk in Central. I was complimented ten times a day by grateful patrons. Scholars,
kooks and drunks called at all the hours we were open and the most interesting
people came past the desks every day. There were a couple of brothers we called
Heckle and Jeckle who were never apart and made the same jokes every day. In History we had "the Prospector, the Pacer, the Cat in the Hat, the Rubber Man, Madame Fifi, and Peterson the school teacher gone mad. The
regulars were stinky and crazy but more entertaining than scary. The librarians
were exceedingly eccentric and very often brilliant. The closest these folks got to a computer was the punch cards that sat in sleeves of circulating books. After dinner for late shifts in some departments there was a distinct whiff of spirits and mean the liquid kind. At the center, Central was really one helluva fun place to work. It was not the flashy
destination it is today but the place had a deep and abiding beauty, despite the
scuffed up surroundings. Some day I may do the decades behind the desk at "dear
dirty" justice but on this oddball anniversary I will just give twenty things I
learned.

I. It’s a
marathon, not a sprint. I haven't hit the finish line yet but I know I don't
look much like the photo at the the top of the page. You hit the wall, you keep
going and you have your creditors to urge you on to greater glory.

2.
"It aint my wife and it aint my life
so fuck you" may have been uttered by an illiterate baseball player but it
works at LAPL too.

3.No matter how bad it looks now it can get a lot worse
and you can adjust to whatever that is.

4.It really is a better job than the private sector,
trust me because I worked in the private sector and it isn’t so great.

5.If you are ambitious, go to that private sector. Do it
now.

6.When you least expect it something great will happen
but pretty girls/boys don't want you, they want the reference book.

7.No matter what people say when they leave, you will
never hear from them again.

8.There is nothing on this job that is more important
than your kids or significant other. Go home if they need you. Also text them
or make calls within reason. Yes, that is against the rules...see #13

9.Call in sick at random and go to Disneyland or the
race track or lay in bed half the day. No one will really notice or suffer that
you were not there that day.

10.Be nice to all library staff and especially branch
librarians because someday they might be your boss or the person that hires
your kid.

11.Try like hell to be kind to patrons, it is not their
fault they are really are clueless about a lot of simple stuff.

12.Participate. While you might feel silly wearing a Cat
in the Hat hat you will thank yourself later.

13.Ignore most rules, make up your own. It works, I have
done it for 34 years.

14.Training is 95% earnest attempts at making the job
easier but you forget after a few days.

15.Go out to eat, leave your library and maybe have a
drink. Let it go, enjoy at least your late shift dinner hour.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Glen...uh...there is something on the TV...that is incredible...oh

For the Falling Man

By Annie Farnsworth

I see you again and againtumbling out of the sky,in your slate-grey suit and pressed white shirt.At first I thought you were debrisfrom the explosion, maybe gray plaster wallor fuselage but then I realized that people were leaping.I know who you are, I know there's more to you than just this imageon the news, this ragdoll plummeting—I know you were someone's lover, husband, daddy. Last night you read storiesto your children, tucked them in, then curled into sleepnext to your wife. Perhaps there was smallsleepy talk of the future. Then,before your morning coffee had cooledyou'd come to this; a choice between fire or falling.How feeble these words, billowingin this aftermath, how ineffectualthis utterance of sorrow. We can see plainly it's hopeless, even as the words trail from our mouths—but we can't help ourselves—how I wishwe could trade them for somethingthat could really have caught you.

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Yelp for Roy

After reading the reviews of Roy the head librarian there I am sad to see him being so poorly rated. In my dealings with the man he has shown qualities that are indeed extraordinary.Roy counted to infinity...twice in answering my child's homework assignmentHis tears can cure several terminal diseases...just one dropHe is so efficient he can watch an episode of 60 minutes in half an hourHe was once declared a Los Angeles city monument but could not accept the trophy because he was on the phone on Union businessHe once taught a German shepherd to bark in Spanish.When it is raining, it is because he is thinking of something sad.His shirts never wrinkle. Only the back of his neckYou can see his charisma from space.if there were a monument built in his honor in the Fairfax district, Farmers Market would close... due to poor attendance.His hands feel like rich brown suede.He once made an obnoxious Mime say shut up at the GroveHe does not snore, not even a littleOn every continent he has visited, there is a sandwich named after him.Sharks have a week dedicated to him.Google uses him for referenceWhen he throws out the branches trash it is already recycledBabies ask to have him kiss them.He once cured a leper with library paste and some lox...it could go on but...

About Me

"My name is Addison DeWitt. My native habitat is the theater. In it I toil not, neither do I spin. I am a critic and commentator. I am essential to the theatre - as ants to a picnic, as the boll weevil to a cotton field." George Sanders in "All About Eve"